


Parody of the Opera

by sarah_red



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Hoping people get a kick out of this parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6245113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_red/pseuds/sarah_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you mean this isn't exactly how the musical went?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I feel like people don't always read the author's note because it says note and most often, it's the author asking for comments or something so people skip over it. That's why I'm going to write my note in the actual text for the first chapter.

Welcome. You have just clicked on the link to embark upon the parody of a lifetime. Or at least, a mediocre parody that you are probably reading to procrastinate for something.

"The next item to bid on: a papier mâché music box with a monkey in Persian robes, found in the depths of the opera house, rumored to represent the man who was originally in the story, but got cut out so the focus could be on the love triangle. 20 francs to start."

Raoul held up his hand. "300 francs."

No one else responded. 

"Alright, sold."

Raoul sighed. "Damn it. I always over bid."

He starts singing for some reason. Something about the music box and the death of everyone. By now, everyone is looking at him, wondering what he's been smoking. 

The auctioneer quickly shows the next item, so he can ask Raoul for a bit of it.   
"Lot 666. A chandelier in pieces." He takes out a notecard to read the description. "Um, let's see... Chandelier blah blah blah Phantom of the Opera yadda yadda electric light, there we go! Perhaps we can frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little... 

...

Pause for dramatic effect...

ILLUMINATION!"

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAA  
DUN DUN DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN  
DUN DUN DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN  
(Oh come on, you know the tune, you can imagine the rest of this song without me trying to type out what it sounds like. Why don't you go listen to it while you wait for the next chapter.)


	2. Think of Meme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do people find this funny? Maybe. Do I care? Probably not as much as I should.

A bystander may have been wondering if someone was being brutally murdered.

It was actually just someone singing.

Carlotta Goodatyelling was strutting across the stage as usual, with her glorified screaming. Ever since they hired her as the lead soprano, they stopped allowing glass to be in close proximity to the stage; other than of course the large chandelier that hung in the opera house. And there’s no way that it would ever come down. They also didn’t believe in dramatic irony in this theatre.

When it came time for the ballet break, she didn’t really move off the stage until an annoyed dancer shoved her off into the wings. He didn’t really have time for her crap, he was too busy being the unnamed male dancer who probably is the only person in the theatre who has their shit together. 

The rehearsal ends abruptly, so a couple characters couldn’t be introduced yet. (Just one actually: the author couldn’t find a funnier version of the name Ubaldo.)

“Right this way gentleman!” The theatre manager was showing two men up to the stage. “Meet the players, and players,” he now addressed everyone, “Meet your new managers! Great. Wonderful. I’m sure you will all be the best of friends. Alright, I’m leaving for my early retirement, goodbye, good luck. I won’t ever be back.”

He ran out of there faster than Ubaldo could have scarved down the nearest cake.

The two new managers stood there in shock. Well, one of them stood in shock. The other was finishing the contents of his flask.

A woman wearing all black entered from the wings. “Welcome, I am Madame G.”

The taller manager nodded. “Gilles Andre and my partner, Richard Firmin. You don’t need to know our first names. This is the only scene we say them in. But what’s your first name? And the G stands for…?”

“My first name is literally Madame. And the G stands for Goth.”

One of the ballet girls groans, and is met with a death glare from Madame G.

“Megatha Anne Isabelle Patricia Giry, you know it’s not just a phase, stop whining.” The woman turns her attention back to the managers. “Your office is down the hall, bathrooms are to the left, and did I mention this theatre’s haunted?”

At the mention of this, Firmin broke out his backup flask, muttering, “I told you never to accept job offers through Craig’s List…”

Madame G ignored him. “The ghost sits in box five for every performance, so you can’t ever sell it. And you must pay him 20,000 francs a month. He also requires a caramel macchiato–whipped cream, hold the sugar– every morning.”

“20,000 francs!” Andre sputters.

“And the caramel macchiato. If he doesn’t get that, he gets angsty.” Madame G added, “And 20,000 francs shouldn’t be that hard. The Vicomte de Chagahoweveryoupronouncehisname is one of your new patrons, I have heard.”

“Éxçüze mé, but ísn’t thîs story äboût mé?” It was Carlotta. She’s not really that important. That’s why a sandbag almost falls on her at this exact moment.

“Fük all of yoü, Î do not need thís shít.”

She storms out, with Ubaldo in hot pursuit. The players rejoice with a chorus of No One Mourns the Wicked. Somewhere, a witch in a bubble feels a disturbance in the time space continuum.

While the managers regretted their job choice, Megatha Anne Isabelle Patricia Giry (Meg for short) thought this was a perfect opportunity for her one spoken line of dialogue.

“cHRISTINE DAAE CAN SING THE PART!!!!111!!!”

Andre turns to Christine in desperation. No one has noticed she was even there so far. Everyone assumed she was just an extra, like unnamed male dancer. “Can you sing it?”

“¯\\_(ツ)_/¯,” was Christine’s response.

“Piano man! Play us a song!”

When the piano man starts to play, Christine comes in two bars later.

“Think-”

“Yeah okay you get the part.”

And that’s how Christine suddenly became the main character. Stay tuned folks for another thrilling installment of Parody of the Opera, coming soon to an AO3 near you.


	3. Obtuse Angle of Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate titles for this chapter: Christine gets her sin(π) to notice her  
> Little Latte [I wanted a caramel macchiato dammit!]  
> Mirror Mirror on the wall, show me the unfairest of them all

Remember that guy Raoul from the first chapter? The one who was probably high off his ass? Yeah, he was at the new production of Hannibal, watching Christine sing. He knew her when they were kids, or something like that. It was all very touching, but we don’t care about that right now; Christine had just finished singing and the audience was going fuckin’ ballistic over her. It was quite possible that the mosh pit was invented this very night.

“Holy shit Christine, yaaaas gurl!”

It was Meg. She tends to get a little over excited.

“I’m totes jelly over your singing Christine. Like, how? SIx months ago, you couldn’t sing for shit!”

Christine looks wistfully off into the distance, as one does.

“I have found an angel of music to teach me, Meg. I’m pretty sure it’s my dead father reaching out to me from across the grave.”

“Your dead father…”

“Yes. My father. The one who is dead.”

“Yeah. I got that, thanks. Well… Good luck with that?”

Meg promptly left the dressing room, hoping that crazy isn’t something that is contagious.

Meanwhile, another conversation was happening outside the dressing room.

“How did you enjoy the show, Vicomte de Chabernathy?” It was Firmin, talking to Raoul.

“Actually, it’s Chagny-”

“Yes, yes, Monsieur de Changeling. Ms. Daae was quite the leading lady, was she not?”

Raoul was lost in thought, in a flashback of the performance. His exact thoughts were:

“Damn, I want to have children with her.”

“You want to what?”

“What? Did I say that out loud? Nothing. I said nothing.”

As the theatre managers slowly backed away, wondering how many nut cases a theatre could contain, Raoul entered the dressing room to find Christine.

He smiled like a lost puppy. (If you’re wondering what this looks like, just look up any picture of Eddie Redmayne.)

“Christine Daae. Hey girl what’s up, we used to know each other.” He attempted to look sexy. He failed miserably.

“The fuck is u?”

“Red scarf. Ocean. Come on, I was soaked.”

“Holy shit! Raoul!”

Raoul gave her a rose. “So… You. Me. Dinner. My place.”

“I would love to! But no. You see, I need to keep up with my singing practice. The angel of music teaches me!”

“Ha, yeah, that’s really funny Christine, you haven’t changed one bit! Let me go get my fine horses™ and we can go. I’ll be back in like five minutes.”

He shoots her a double pistols and a wink before heading out the door. Christine just shakes her head.

“Wow Raoul, you fucking idiot.”

“lol nice, my sentiments exactly,” a voice called out from somewhere in the room.

It was none other than the “angel of music” himself! Except, he isn’t really an angel, or Christine’s dead dad. Remember the opera ghost? Yeah, this is that guy. Christine really has no idea. Life lesson for all of you: never trust strangers you hear in your dressing room, they aren’t always who they say they are. Keep your children safe, educate them. Don’t do drugs. Stay in school.

“Angel! Sorry about that, you know how childhood friends are.”

“Yes. Angel. That’s me. I am the angel. So… Do you want to finally see me or something?”

“Hell yeah! Oh wait. You’re an angel. Heaven yeah!”

“Okay cool, I’m in your mirror.”

Christine turns around to find a figure in the mirror. If it were even possible, he looked more goth than Madame G. He wore a black cape, a white mask, and a fedora. The fedora should have been an indicator that this guy was a creep and that Christine should have left before he started doing something like lamenting about how many times he’s been put in the friend zone.

“Wait, you don’t look like my dad at all.”

“No shit, Christine. Now get in the mirror, loser. We’re going singing.”


	4. Fanta™ of the Opera (Your ad here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parody of the Opera now supports product placement. I will promo your fanfic in return for kudos and comments. Just kidding. I wouldn’t ever do that, so don’t ask.

When we last left off, Christine was just being spirited away by a strange man in a fedora. I guess stranger danger wasn’t a thing in the 1800’s. At least this guy is good at being flamboyant. The millions of candles? Classy. The voyage across the lake? Mysterious. The bedazzled cape? Fabulous.

“So, this is my sick bachelor pad.”

He dramatically whips his cape off, and throws the fedora like a frisbee, slicking his hair back afterwards. Christine looks at him, confused.

“So if you’re not my dead father, and you’re definitely not an angel with all that black clothing, then you must be…  
[dramatic closeup of Christine, cue the suspense music]  
The Phantom of the Opera!”

Somewhere in the universe, Meg is singing “He’s here, the Phantom of the Opera!”

He shrugs. “I mean yes, I guess. You got me. But you can call me Erik. That way, I get a name, you have something to call me by other than ‘daddy’ because that is way too cringe worthy, and so every time the author mentions me, she doesn’t have to write out the Phantom of the Opera every time.”

Thanks dude.

“No problem. Anyway, Christine, you gotta sing. Just keep going higher until it’s basically screaming at a constant pitch.”

And that’s exactly what she does. She sings, and she sings, and she sings. It’s all very much like the Little Mermaid, except Erik doesn’t really want to take Christine’s voice in exchange for something she wants, such as freedom to walk on land, or some shit like that. His goal is for her to sing for him, and then marry him. Not much room for “freedom” in his plans for Christine. She doesn’t know that yet. 

On a different note, Christine hits that high e flat like a boss. Good luck trying to sing like that. You’ll sound like a dying pterodactyl.

“Wanna listen to my mixtape?”

It was Erik again. He doesn’t wait for a response, he just starts singing as he shows Christine around the lair. He has a lot of stuff; he wears a fedora and he’s a hoarder? Come on Christine, what are you doing with your life?

As they go wandering, they stop by a mirror. Except the mirror is broken and it has a creepy-ass mannequin wearing a wedding dress standing in the frame. There’s one of those sticker label things on it, reading: Chrstne.

“Sorry about that, my label maker was having trouble with the i button again.”

He was trying to talk to Christine, but she was already passed out on the floor.

“Would you look at that. She’s sleeping, how sweet. Well, it seems like the perfect time to go practice playing discordant forte notes on the organ.”

Somehow, that doesn’t wake her up. But the music box does. Don’t ask me the logic behind this. There is none.

“Huh. So, that wasn’t some weird dream I had, and apparently, I’m not high…”

Erik didn’t hear Christine speak, he was too busy “feeling the music,” whatever that means. Christine might not have been high, but it sure seemed like he was.

Or maybe everyone was high. That certainly explains all the weirdness and stupid decisions in this story.

Speaking of stupid decisions, let’s get back to the plot. Christine thinks now is a great time to sneak up on Erik and take off his mask.

What you are about to see next is not suitable for all audiences. Please watch under parental supervision, as some images may be too graphic for young audiences.

“WHAT THE FUCK CHRISTINE!”

“U-G-L-Y u aint got no alibi u ugly”

That’s it. That’s the whole story.

So, basically, Erik has a really bad face thing, meaning he’s ugly forever. Rumor has it, he cried watching Beauty and the Beast because the prince was saved from his ugly curse at the end. Poor Erik. Too bad he’s batshit crazy, you almost feel bad for him.

“NOW U CANNOT EVR BE FREE but i gotta take u back to the opera house so follow me.”


	5. Far Too Many Author's Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a normal day, like any other, at the Paris Opera House. The ballet girls are screaming, Joseph Buquet is being a dick, and Madame G is taking no shit. Naturally, the theatre managers are freaking out.  
> It’s mail time  
> Mail time  
> Mail Time  
> MAIIIL TIIIIME [insert jazz hands here]  
> (Also, if anyone knows how to write a proper MLA citation for Blue’s Clues, that would be great.)
> 
> Firmin had just finished his backup backup flask and is pacing the room, tearing out what’s left of his sparse combover.
> 
> “Do you think we could still make money if the entire cast quits? At this rate, the theatre is going to become the Christine Daae show!”
> 
> “Even if we make money, this ‘opera ghost’ still wants half of it!” Andre looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. “And he also says we owe him three weeks worth of caramel macchiatos. This guy needs to chill, Starbucks hasn’t been invented yet.”
> 
> At this moment, Raoul bursts in waving a letter in his hands.
> 
> “Is this a joke? Angel of music?”
> 
> “It certainly is not, monsieur de Chimichanga.”
> 
> Before Raoul could correct Andre, he was brutally interrupted by none other than
> 
> “Éxçüúûµụủừữưūũze mé.”
> 
> Carlotta. Piangi was there too, but he didn’t really do anything. He just provided the backup anger.
> 
> “Whö éver wrotê thís letter (the víçomtë), I hâté them now.”
> 
> Raoul was interrupted again, this time by Madame G.
> 
> “All of you are wrong. All your letters are signed OG for opera ghost. Who else could it be? The pope? All of you need to start listening to me more often, otherwise somebody,” she looks at Piangi for no reason, “could get killed.”
> 
> Now that everyone finally shut up, she continued to talk.
> 
> “Christine is back, we are going to perform Il Muto, she better get the lead role, box five should be as empty as Raoul’s sex life, no cuts, no buts, no coconuts. It’s all detailed in this letter, good day to you all, Madame G out.”
> 
> She put on a sick pair of sunglasses before backing out of the room, leaving the rest of them to stand there like idiots.
> 
> Firmin shrugged it off. “Naw, I think we should just keep on doing things how we want. What’s the worst that could happen?”
> 
> As stated in chapter two, they didn’t believe in dramatic irony for some reason.

If you haven't already noticed, all of the story is in the notes section, for obvious reasons.


	6. Poor Raoul, He Makes Me Laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to devote this chapter completely and utterly to fuckups committed by none other than ya homeboy Raoul. Yeah, other people mess some stuff up too, but we are still blaming Raoul for everything. (I have nothing against Raoul, I just feel like blowing his mistakes out of proportion for the sake of comedy. You must admit, it’s pretty damn hilarious.)

That night, there was to be the performance of Il Muto. It’s pretty stunning actually, considering the fact that the cast had no rehearsal time. As soon as the managers got Carlotta out of the office that evening, they decided to have the performance then and there. It’s amazing an audience even showed up. Too bad everything goes to shit.

As they were seating the audience, Raoul starts gathering as many people as he can.

“We are having a party in box five! Consider it my bachelor party, I’m marrying Christine! She doesn’t know that yet, but you know, I’ll tell her tonight or something.”

The managers looked at him in shock; Andre spoke up.

“Monsieur de Chimpanzee, we have done everything against the letter so far. Maybe the addition of you taking box five is going a little bit too far? It did say to leave box five as empty as your sex life...”

Raoul was taken aback. “Excuse you, but you don’t know the first thing about my sex life. It’s pretty, er, what’s the word... Spicy? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Andre nodded, walking away. “Like I said, empty.”

As Raoul went to go sit in his overcrowded box, the show started. The curtain went up; Carlotta was onstage with Christine and some other people who were not nearly as important. Everything was going smoothly so far, if you can call Carlotta’s screeching smooth. But then a voice rang out through the theatre.

“hARRY DID YA PUT YA NAME IN TEH GOBLET OF FIYA!”

There was a few seconds pause before the voice continued. A couple people coughed.

“Shit, sorry, wrong line. I meant to say: DIDN’T I INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WOULD BE LEFT OPEN!”

Somehow, Meg was onstage now. “He’s here! The Phantom of the Opera!”

Meanwhile, everyone but Raoul skiddly-darn-daddled out of box five.

Christine looked around in fear. “ :O !!!!”

Carlotta was even more pissed than usual, and she has resting bitch face.

“Hmph! Yøür párt ís sîlent ü littlé tóåd.”

“She’s rubber, you’re glue. It bounces off her and sticks to you.” 

Wow. The voice was pretty savage.

But, Carlotta ignored it and continued singing.

“Poor fool, he makes me   
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She burst out crying, right then and there, running off stage.

A random audience member said, “Interesting, I don’t remember this part of the show.”

Andre ran out on stage as the curtain went down.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, but as soon as we get things up and running again, I guess Christine will have to play the lead. Um, yeah, sorry, but here’s the ballet!”

He ran off to see if he could snag some of Firmin’s backup backup backup flask.

The audience members were grumbling.

“I say it was Raoul’s fault!”

“Yeah!”

“He poisoned our water supply, burned our crops, and delivered a plague unto our houses!”

“He did?!”

“NO, but are we just gonna wait around until he does?!”

“I say, we tip something over!”

The voice rang out in the theatre again.

“Oh boy, do I have the perfect thing to tip over.”

Suddenly, everyone looks up to the rafters. Joseph Buquet fell, hanged by a rope.

“He was telling everyone that I don’t have a nose. How inconsiderate. This is the musical version of me, not the book.”


	7. All I Ask Of Youuuuuuuu (Soulja Boy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that. We are at the end of act one. That’s neat.

Christine only got mostly changed before she heard news of Buquet’s death. She ran up to the roof in her costume for the final act, minus the wig taller than the Empire State Building. She couldn’t believe she was stuck in a love triangle. She thought that only happened in shitty teen movies that were nowhere near as good as the book.

What she didn’t know was that Raoul followed her up.

“Christine! Why have you brought me here?”

“What the heck dude? I didn’t ask you to follow me up here. Can’t I go one minute in this musical without being followed by someone who’s trying to win my affection?”

Raoul shook his head and pulled out a stack of papers. “No. I looked ahead in the script. There’s a point where it seems like you weren’t followed by someone, but then it turns out Erik was behind your father’s grave all along, and then I come in and-”

Christine cut him off before he could continue. “It doesn’t matter right now. Just… I don’t know. Do something useful for once.”

Raoul’s face brightened, despite the current situation. “Okie dokie Christine! I will save the day! But this plan will only work if you love me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Really really?”

“Really really really.”

“Okay, wonderful. Does it work in your schedule for me to love you now, or do you need me to do that at a later date?”

Raoul dug in his coat pocket to find his planner. He flipped through a couple pages, nodding his head. “Yeah. Everything is in order for you to love me now.”

They started making out. There was tongue involved. Before it progressed, the lights started blinking, signifying that the next act was about to start. 

“Alrighty. I’ll go finish the last act, and you go order your fine horses™.”

They skipped back downstairs, holding hands and singing merrily. But our focus is still on the roof. Not only Raoul followed Christine up there.

“I gave you my mu-”

“HE’S HERE THE PHAAANTOM OF THE OPERAAAAAAAAA,” Meg was shouting and running across the rooftop, crazed.

“Damn it Meg, I was trying to have a moment here!”

This angered Erik so much, he decided to drop the chandelier. I mean, he was also angry about Christine and Raoul, but come on. Someone just interrupted his solo. It’s very impolite.

And those nerds who run the opera thought there was never a chance that the chandelier would come down.

Amateurs.


	8. Throwing a Masked Ball is a Very Good Idea When You Are Dealing With a Masked Murderer by Fall Out Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the musical, six months apparently passed in the intermission time. I feel like I haven’t updated this fic in six months… Sorry.

All was bright at the Paris Opera House; it seemed like the chandelier never even crashed at all. That was because the managers took damage fees out of Erik’s monthly salary to pay for a new one. Already, they weren’t really off to a great start at trying not to piss this guy off any more than they already had.

 

But hey, the guy hadn’t shown up at all in the months it took to get the chandelier fixed. So quite naturally, he’s probably dead. (Maybe he was dead all along, with his spooky scary skeleton fingers and shit.)

 

Anyway, back to the opera house. Every year, they threw a large masked ball for theatre goers to attend. And let me tell you, this ball is hotter than Leslie Odom Jr’s smile. Everywhere you look, there are people in extravagant costumes and elaborate masks, except for that one guy who always goes to Party City last minute because he forgot to do his dry cleaning. Let’s say his name is Steve. Fuck you, Steve.

 

However, Steve isn’t important at all. (Serves him right.) Only the cast of main and supporting characters are important. Since Raoul and Christine are probably off canoodling somewhere at the moment, I guess we have to pay attention to the managers, the Giry’s, and the opera snobs.

 

“Madame Giry, you are practically wearing the exact same outfit you always do. Why must you wear black all the time?” Andre noticed this as Firmin was drinking from his backup backup backup backup fucking hell he has too many backup flasks to keep count of.

 

Madame Giry had just as much of her resting bitchface as ever. “I’m mourning the loss of my last shit given.”

 

Carlotta opened her mouth to say something, but was immediately cut off by the entrance of our two favorite people.

 

Everybody give it up for the opera Garnier’s two time winning best power couple: Cinnamon Raoul DeChagny and Christine motherfucking Daae.

 

Look at them, doing cute shit and dancing together. Rumor has it, they finally got engaged. But secretly. You know, on the downlow. Low key. Hushity hush.

 

“I’M SO EXCITED TO BE MARRYING YOU SOON CHRISTINE.”

 

Oh Raoul. Honey. That’s not how it works.

 

While Christine is figuring out how to quiet him, everyone else starts dancing around them. They all seem pretty coordinated for drunk people at a party. The 1800s were certainly a different time.

 

Everyone’s just having a grand time, dancing and drinking and forgetting their problems.

 

But that’s when the telltale organ music kicks in.

 

“Heard u been talkin shit.”

 

Wow. Who could this be. The suspense is killing me. Such a cliffhanger.


End file.
